


Rose's Thorn

by yuiseau



Category: The Magicians (TV), The Magicians - Lev Grossman
Genre: Alternate Universe, But a lovable dick, Drama, Eliot is a dick, Explicit Sexual Content, First Love, First Time, High School, M/M, crude language, no magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-08 06:51:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10380972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuiseau/pseuds/yuiseau
Summary: In which Quentin Coldwater is switched to a new high school, where he meets a fantastic new set of friends. One has a pretty good ass.





	1. In Which There Is A Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Love to you all, please enjoy and give feedback if you please! I promise to respond as often as possible. I'm a slight bit lazy, so keep me motivated if you'd like more.

No one wants to be the "new kid" in school. The feeling of being lost, alone, with nowhere to go is nearly crippling when one walks into a new school. Testing the waters is difficult; and fitting in to a social group is nearly impossible, especially for juniors in high school. The cliques have been formed, and have been formed for around 2 years. No one needs fresh meat in their circle of friends.

Quentin Coldwater is not in luck. Sadly, he is a junior. And saldy, he has no friends. 

But the key objective that sets Quentin apart from the rest of the anxiety-ridden newcomers is that he has been in situations like this before. 6 times, to be exact.

His family isn't poor, per se, only straddling the edge of poverty and the middle class, but unable to find footing in either direction. Life is hard when you have no place to belong. The streets are too dirty, but a house is too expensive. The in-between is the roughest patch to live in whilst living in the United States. 

But they make do. They love each other as well as they can, and hop from state to state, searching for some opportunity to raise themselves out of the financial pit they are stuck in. Lousy apartments become their best friend, if only for a few weeks or months.

Quentin's favorite location so far has been Ohio, partly because that's where he met Julia, and partly because of the rural feeling of the state. You could walk outside and feel completely isolated from the rest of the world, looking out over fields and the occasional farmhouse. Ohio felt like home to Quentin, but he has learned that "home" is a very loose term in his life. 

When his parents told him that they needed to pack and leave, he cried. He said his goodbyes to Julia, his only friend, and told her that he would write whenever he could. She was never able to reply, since by the time the letter was delivered, Quentin was already living in a new apartment in a whole new state. Not having a cell phone sucks.

Yet, all things set aside, Quentin Coldwater doesn't have it that bad.

Life has recently taken him to Southeast Michigan, where his dad has accepted a job as a car mechanic.

Now, back to school.

..........

Walking through the front doors of Brakebills High, Quentin has never felt more poor in his life. Comparing himself to the other kids wandering through the halls to their next period, he feels a sense of insecurity that he's never felt before. 

Apparently a sweatshirt and jeans just don't cut it here.

Quentin strolls into the main office, where a woman sits at a large brown desk, doing paperwork of some kind. As he enters the room, she looks up at him, over her glasses, and gives him a strained smile.

"Hello darling. Is there something I can do for you today?" She says, as polite as she can muster.

Quentin lets out a nervous laugh. "Uh- yeah actually. My name is Quentin Coldwater, I'm supposed to start school here today? I'm new."

The woman gives him a surprised look, and wheels her chair over to a large cabinet of files. Her dainty fingers card through the files named "CO", before pulling out a manilla folder.

"Ah yes, Quentin! I have you right here. It's so lovely to welcome you to our beautiful school. This is your daily schedule." She hands him a slip of paper with class information. Quentin forces a weary smile, and accepts the paper. "I will also call down one of our finest students to help you get around for the first week you are here. Is that alright with you, dear?"

Quentin sighs in relief. "Yeah, that would be great. Thanks."

The woman pulls a small radio from her desk drawer, and presses the red button on the side. "Linda? Yes it's me, Margaret. Would you mind sending Mr. Waugh down to the main office? I am requesting him to show one of our new students around. Thank you." The radio clicks off.

She looks back towards Quentin. "Mr. Waugh should be down here shortly. You may take a seat on that couch until he arrives, if you'd like."

Quentin lightly sets his bag down on the couch and follows suit. He feels some of the tension leave his body as he slumps into the cushions of the couch. What school has enough money to buy couches for their office?

After a few minutes of relaxing silence, a young man appears in the doorway of the office.

"Mrs. Margaret, you called?" He inquires.

Quentin looks up from his seat on the cushion and gets a good look at the guy. Pristinely clothed, groomed, and oh god he has the best ass...

Nope. Not happening.

"Mr. Waugh, would you mind showing Mr. Coldwater around Brakebills for the next week until he gets his bearings for the school? I would highly appreciate it." 

The boy gives the woman a charming smile. "Anything for you Mrs. Margaret, as long as you ask. I can never turn down a woman as beautiful as yourself." He looks at Quentin with curious green eyes, and raises an eyebrow. "Coming?"

"Y-yes. Yeah, I'm coming." Quentin grabs his bag and throws it over one of his shoulders, starting to his feet. 

The boy is already out the door by the time Quentin stands up, and walking briskly to the end of the hall. Quentin has to half run to catch up to the boy with the long legs. 

"Welcome to Brakebills, I'll be the smallest welcoming committee you'll get here, if not the only one. My heart goes out to you, you look as if you aren't a freshman." The boy purrs, not stopping to look at Quentin once. Quentin's eyebrows furrow.

"Why is it bad that I'm not a freshman?" Quentin asks, brushing a stray piece of hair from his eyes.

The boy huffs out a short breath. "You'll see soon enough. Anyhow, I'm supposed to act as your own personal guide for your first week apparently, so why don't we get to know each other a small bit." He stops walking and sticks out his hand. "I'm Eliot. I'm a senior this year."

Quentin grasps Eliot's hand. "I'm Quentin. I'm a junior."

Eliot blinks at him once. "What a shame. You're not 18 yet?" Quentin shakes his head no. Eliot mumbles something along the lines of "not legal yet", and begins to walk again.

As Eliot parades Quentin around the campus of the school, stopping every now and again to explain a small detail or tell short stories of his past memories in a certain area, Quentin watches the taller boy from the side of his eye. He is attractive, there's no lying about that. Neatly combed hair, but still messy from natural waves. Small lips, but still beautiful enough to kiss. Round ass, hot enough to-

Fuck, stop thinking this bullshit.

Quentin shakes his mind from the gutter, only to find that Eliot has asked him a question

"I'm sorry, what?" He manages.

Eliot smirks at him. "Admiring the menu, I see? Don't worry, everyone does. I already know that I'm hot." He spins around on his heel and leads a flushed Quentin to another end of the school. 

The tour with Eliot ends up going well, and Quentin feels less anxious about his classes and navigating the huge high school. Eliot tells him that he need to head to 4th period, since they missed all of 3rd. Quentin thanks Eliot, not before he can throw back a cheeky comment about how "people always thank him for his services".

They part ways for the time being, and Quentin heads off to his 4th period, Algebra II. The bells in the hallway ring, and suddenly the hall is filled with gossip and laughs. Girls walk past him in short skirts and collars, and guys wear button downs and ties. Maybe Quentin should invest in a new outfit or two...

4th period is a blur, and Quentin was put in an awkward position when the teacher announced, "Class! We have a new student. Please introduce yourself, Quentin." And he had to stand up in front of the class and tell them what his favorite animal was and why. High school fucking sucks.

Quentin was released at the bell, and he checked his schedule. After 4th period is lunch. Great.

He journeys through the labrynth of hallways towards the general direction he remembers Eliot telling him the cafeteria was. Luckily, he only had to ask a teacher for directions once.

Truth is, Quentin has no friends. Well, he has Julia, but she's a state away living in farm country. He has to face the lunchroom head on, by himself. He walks through the doors, and immediately wonders if he has a rope in his bag large enough to tie a noose. The room is packed. No tables are empty. No one glances up at him. No one offers him a seat. Well, until Eliot.

"Hey you fucking nerd, come eat with us." Quentin spots Eliot sitting with a few other people, which he assumes are also his friends.

Their posse doesn't seem too welcoming, but neither does the rest of the cafeteria. Quentin slides into a seat at Eliot's table.

"Who's this kid?" One of his friends snapped.

"Now, now, Penny, play nice. This is Quentin. He's new." Eliot finishes with a sly wink.

Penny grumbles something back and begins eating his sandwich.

Eliot smirks and leans over to whisper to Quentin. "He's a little rough around the edges, but he's actually a little sweetheart. He likes to act like a tough guy." 

Quentin nods absently, taking in the rest of the table. Eliot introduces them one by one; Penny, Alice, Kady, and of course Margo, who seems to have the strongest connection with Eliot. 

"He's kinda cute El, you could definitely smash if you wanted to." Margo announces, not trying to keep quiet from Quentin.

"I'm sitting right here." Quentin states timidly.

"No shit Sherlock. I'm not deaf or blind, am I?" She shoots back. No wonder Eliot and her are such close friends.

Lunch is a quick process, the table shooting witty insults and comebacks at each other the whole time, but with a loving undertone. They definitely aren't the group that Quentin imagined he would fit in with, but they seem nice enough. He takes a particular liking to Alice, who seems quieter and less bold than the rest. She's also a junior, he's told.

Lunch ends, and Margo plants a kiss on Eliot's cheek. "See you later babe." She grins and sways off.

Quentin hesitates for a few moments, before asking, "Are you two... you know. Like-"

"Dating?" Eliot finishes for him. "No. I love her and she loves me, but we aren't together. Completely platonic."

Quentin shouldn't feel so good about that response.

He finishes up the rest of his school day, and is released by the final bell. He makes his way to the front entrance, grasping onto the straps of his bag. He could definitely get used to this school. 

As he walks outside, he gets stopped by the honk of a horn. 

"Hey nerd. Need a ride home?" Margo shouts from the driver's seat of her car. He can see the vague outline of Eliot in the passengers seat.

"Uh no thanks. I think I'm just going to walk. You know, get some exercise and all that." He keeps walking ahead, but the car is following him.

"El, did you hear that? He just denied me. Can you even believe it! What kind of nerve does this kid have?" Margo half-heartedly yells, attempting to sound outraged.

"Believe it or not Margo, not everyone thinks you're a hot piece of ass. I mean, I do, but that's a different story." Eliot responds, and Quentin could almost hear the audible wink in that sentence. "Come on Quentin, don't be a prude. We can drive you home and act as your carriage for when you arrive at your palace."

Quentin glances at the car. One ride won't hurt. "Okay."

"That's my boy!" Margo chimes in. Quentin opens the rear door and shoves over a few colorful cardigans and sits in the backseat. 

"What's with all these sweaters?" Quentin asks, kicking over a green knitted top.

"Backup cardigans. You can never have enough of them sweetie." Margo responds, smiling. "I change my outfit to keep feeling fresh throughout the day. Gotta stay the fashion icon of Brakebills High, you know?" 

Eliot leans over to peck her on the cheek. "You'll always be my fashion icon, Bambi." 

Margo let's out an insane giggle, and pulls out of the school parking lot. 

"Quentin, what's your address?" Margo asks, pulling up a GPS on her phone.

"Shit- hold on." Quentin pulls out a paper with his address written on it. "1578 Valley Road."

The car nearly comes to a full stop. "Valley Road?!" Eliot and Margo say in unison.

Quentin wants to sink so far into the cushions of the seat that he never comes back out. "Yes...? That's what it says my address is."

Margo and Eliot share a look with each other, and keep on driving. For a few moments, Quentin sits in silence, wondering what was wrong with what he said. What's wrong with Valley Road?

"Is there something wrong with that?" He asks after a while.

Eliot gives a small laugh. "Quentin. Dear, lovely Quentin. Valley Road is not a place you should be telling other people about. That's where the slums of the city are located." He says simply.

Quentin blushes a furious red. Partly of embarrassment, but mostly of anger. "Excuse me. I would like to walk the rest of the way. If you wouldn't mind pulling over here."

"What? Why?" Eliot asks quizzically. 

"I would really like to get a breath of fresh air, away from people like you." Quentin answers, cold and hard.

Margo pulls over to the side of the road and shifts the car into park. "Are you sure Quentin? We can drive you the rest of the way if you'd like."

"Yeah, I'm fucking sure." He grabs his bag and slams the door shut. Fuck them. They don't know anything about him. What he's been through, what he's still going through. They're just a bunch of stuck up pricks who have nothing better to do with their lives but insult others. No wonder they go to Brakebills. They're just like anyone else.

Quentin hears another car door slam. He tries to walk faster, but the boy with the long legs catches up quick.

"Quentin. Quentin! Would you stop for a minute?" Eliot grabs the other boy's bag hanging from his back. Quentin clutches the straps around his shoulders and yanks as hard as he can to free himself from Eliot's hold.

"Fuck off! You don't know shit about me. Just go home. Go home to your parents, and your money, and your stupid wardrobe. I'll go home to mine." Quentin fires.

Eliot pinches the bridge of his nose. "First off, my wardrobe is not stupid. Second off, I'm sorry. And I never say that, okay? I'm sorry. Quentin, we aren't judging you. We just haven't had someone new in our friend group in a while and it's difficult to accept you fully right now. People say that I act like a bit of an ass, and I get that. But I didn't know you would get so offended." 

"Offended? Oh, no one's offended. I'm fucking pissed. I'm going home." Quentin hurries away down the side of the road, leaving Eliot standing near the car, watching as the shorter boy strode away. 

Margo rolls down the window. "Trouble in paradise?"

Eliot shakes his head slightly. "Something like that."

.........

Quentin unlocks his door in a rage, fumbling with the house key the landlord gave to him. The know finally turns, and Quentin stubs into the house. No one is home; good. He hates getting angry when his parents are home. Feelings are are a burden to a family already weighed down by the stress of money and stability.

He heads to his room and flops down on his bed. 

"Fuck." He breathes, rubbing his hands down the side of his face. 

Brakebills was going so well, until Eliot and Margo ruined it. Honestly switching high schools didn't seem that bad until now. 

It's hard to stay positive when you live a life full of stress. Will there be dinner on the table tonight? Will dad get fired from his work? Will mom catch an illness and not be able to pay to go to the doctor? Things taken for granted are overlooked by people with money and stability. People like Eliot.

Fucking Eliot. With his stupid hair, and his stupid smirk, and his stupid eyes. 

He doesn't know shit about Quentin. He doesn't know that he's been hospitalized for chronic depression. He doesn't know that he's on the verge of collapsing again. He doesn't know anything, yet he still believes that he has a right to make fun of the nicest place Quentin has ever lived? What a joke.

But God, would Quentin do anything to touch Eliot. To sit next to Eliot. To be with Eliot. 

Teenage hormones don't distinguish between good and bad people, they only see their appearance. They only want to feel and be felt.

Quentin takes a deep breath and brushes his hand down from his face, across his chest, picturing that stupid grin on Eliot's face.

He closes his eyes and remembers Eliot's perfect lips, and fuck- what they would feel like on his neck, his chest, his nipples.

Quentin reaches a hand down under his sweatshirt, lightly grazing the trail of soft hairs there, before brushing his way back up to lightly tug one of his nipples. Goosebumps erupt over his body, and it's not only Quentin there, lying in his bed, but also Eliot. Eliot is the one pinching and feeling Quentin, reveling in the way he gasps at a small flick of his finger. 

Quentin's hips buck upwards, searching for friction, but finding none. He reaches down with his other hand to his zipper on his jeans, slowly pulling it down before delving his hand inside to palm at his bulge through his underwear. He can practically feel the hot breath of Eliot as he caresses Quentin, touches Quentin, takes care of Quentin. A quiet moan escapes Quentin's lips as he pictures the sight through his closed eyes. 

Eliot, with his lips plump from kissing and biting, and messy hair, from running hands through it and pulling. Oh God- he's so hot.

Quentin fingers the waistband of his underwear, urging for his Eliot to touch him, taste him, anything. He finally grips himself, hard in his hand, and gives a tentative pull on his cock.

"Fuck, Eliot-"

He slides his hand up and down his shafts, dragging moans and breaths out of himself. Heat pools in his stomach as he imagines Eliot, down on his knees, with Quentin's cock in his mouth. Pretty lips wrapped around his girth and eyes pleading for more. He couldn't say any cocky quip, or smirk up at Quentin. He could only suck with a beautiful glint of green in his eyes.

Quentin speeds up his motions, wanting to pull out every feeling, every emotion. Shit- Eliot's mouth around him feels so good, so hot. He can only imagine how hot it would be to sink into Eliot's perfect ass-

"Shit!" Quentin moans as he let's himself go. Hot strings coat his hand, as he give a few more slow pulls on his cock to ride out his high. He breathes heavy into his pillow for a few minutes, before coming to a strange realization.

He just jerked off. To a guy. 

A guy named Eliot Waugh, who just so happens to have a perfect ass, and a not-so-perfect attitude.

Fuck, he's so screwed.


	2. In Which Things Get Raunchy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please skip first few paragraphs if you're sensitive to depressing thoughts. I don't want anyone to feel uncomfortable, just trying to get Quentin's story right.

Lost and alone. Alone and lost. Synonyms for the clinically depressed. Quentin had never thought of himself as different until the day he was hospitalized, the day he was stripped of whatever pride he had left in him. 

And here he is. Again.

Hawthorne Psychiatric Hospital, in Charleston, South Carolina. He must admit, the hospital is much nicer than the places he has been living in recently, but the bright lighting and stark white walls lack a certain sense of coziness- of "home". 

Every day is the same schedule. Wake up, take a shower, eat breakfast. Then personal therapy, lunch, group therapy, and dinner. When the day finally comes to a close, all kids have to take their prescribed medication and head to bed. No talking, only deafening silence and Quentin's pressuring thoughts. Why didn't it work? Why couldn't he do one thing right for once in his life? He sits in bed, under the thin blanket given to him when he first arrived, and thinks about how much money this care is costing his family. How much money he could have saved them if he had done it right.

"-in? Quentin?"

Quentin jerks awake at the sound of his name. He's sweating, still wearing his soiled clothes from yesterday. Dim morning light snakes its way through the crevices in his blinds.

"Shit! I'm late?" He asks in a panic.

His mom stands in the frame of his door, holding a lean stack of clothes. "Yes. I had no clue you were still here, you're usually gone by now. Is everything alright? Are you sick?"

Quentin shakes his head, "No, I just overslept. Sorry, I'll leave as soon as I'm dressed."

His mom cocks an eyebrow at his questionable pajama choice, but doesn't say anything. She nods her head and walks off to another section of their house.

Quentin rubs the sleep from his eyes, and glances at his digital clock on his nightstand. 10:32. He's already missed his first two periods.

He forces himself out of the warm comfort of his sheets and goes through his morning routine.

Today, he wears the nicest shirt he owns, a sweater that he usually takes out during the winter months, but all beauty comes at a price, right?

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, he looks at himself. Honestly, this is probably the best he has ever looked in his life.

He grabs his bag and kisses his mom goodbye, walking out the door on his way to Brakebills.

The weather is mild, at least for Michigan. Quentin decides to take his time walking to school since he's already missed quite a large amount of class time anyhow. The scenery of the neighborhood is actually pleasant. The houses are generally well-kept, with the casual dump here and there. The thought of living in this beautiful of a neighborhood makes Quentin smile. The small things in life are what matter, not huge mansions and money. 

His thoughts turn from the soft breeze to Eliot. Eliot, with his blatant thoughts and sudden comebacks. Who is Eliot, really?

Quentin wants to know. He wants to navigate the ins and outs of Eliot's mind. He wants to hear his story, whether it's interesting or sad or anything in-between.

Shit. He definitely needs to write a letter to Julia as soon as possible and figure out his thoughts.

Quentin approaches Brakebills like one would a rabid animal. He's already fucked up the only friendship he had going for him. His mind wanders to lunch, and who he would sit with. Hopefully Eliot will just leave him be from now on. Drama is the last thing he needs at this point in his life.

Quentin enters the school and signs in at the front office. He takes slight note of the new woman sitting at the front desk; bouncy hair, bubbly personality. Such a change from yesterday's encounter.

He heads to class in 4th period and sleeps the whole hour.

The sudden bell wakes Quentin up, and he takes the walk of shame to the lunchroom, dragging his feet to slow the process as much as he possibly can.

You can do this, Quentin. You don't need those preppy pricks.

He opens the door to the lunchroom and immediately wishes he would have eaten in the bathroom. The tables are as full as they were yesterday, with Eliot and his friends sitting in the same area. Quentin scopes out a spot at a table that's half full of Brakebills nerds, and decides that that's the best bet for today. He places his bag on the floor and pulls out his Environmental Science homework that he didn't do yesterday.

Fuck Eliot. He's doing just fine by himself, see? No problem.

"Hey, Quentin." Alice slides into the seat across from him. Her blue eyes dance across his until she looks down at her clasped hands. "Why are you sitting over here? Eliot was looking for you. He was worried that you didn't show up for 1st period. Told me some shitty joke about you being lost without him..."

Quentin snorts a laugh. "Eliot's an asshole. I don't need him to show me around."

One side of Alice's mouth twists up in a smirk. "Trust me, I know. Did you just figure that out?"

"Unfortunately, yes. I'd rather not be associated with that kind of jackass." Quentin scribbles down another answer on his notes, then looks back at Alice. "Why are you over here and not with your friends?"

"Well, you're my friend."

Quentin exhales his nervousness and gives Alice a small grin. "Thanks. But you really shouldn't worry too much about me. I'll be fine on my own for a while. You don't need to sacrifice your popularity to come and sit with me at the loser table."

A girl sitting at the other end of the bench throws a baby carrot at the side of Quentin's head. 

"Hey, fuck you buddy. We aren't losers just because we genuinely enjoy learning, you prick." The girl snaps.

Quentin rubs his head and mutters, "Even the nerds don't like me."

Alice reaches across the table and grabs Quentin's hand. "Hey. If you change your mind, you know where to find me. I don't think you're a loser." She winks and takes her bag back to Eliot's table. 

Quentin opens his hand back up and realizes that she gave him a slip of paper. He unravels the delicate folds and reads the fine print.

"Party at 51148 Remington Ct. Friday. Bring booze." 

Quentin almost laughs out loud. This is a fucking joke. No way is he going to a party, especially when he's never gone to one before. What do kids even do at parties? Drink? Do drugs? Have sex?

All three sound appealing, but not in a community where Brakebills kids are going. He tucks the paper in his pocket.

..........

The school day is long and boring. Nothing exciting seems to happen at Brakebills, except for the gossip that is spread around the hallways like a disease. 

"Did you hear Jake hooked up with Eleanor in the janitor's closet on level two? Pretty disgusting to stoop that low."

"Dude, Callie is totally bangable. That's a word, right?"

"Fiona is such a thot. How could Marcus even go for someone like that?"

"Did you hear about the party on Friday? Sunny said it's going to be off the chain."

Gossip is every Brakebills student's favorite hobby. Word travels through the school like a wildfire. Quentin personally doesn't believe in petty gossip, but whatever the rich kids have to do to keep themselves occupied, by all means, go ahead.

He's just glad to finally be home, in his stable house, with close-as-they'll-ever-be-to-stable parents. Happiness doesn't come easily, but he can make do with what he has.

His mom is in a particularly bad mood tonight.

"Quentin? Didn't I tell you to clean the dishes when you got home from school?" She snips.

"I did, Mom. They're drying on the towel." He responds.

A few seconds pass before his mother replies, "What, these plates? I can still see the pasta your dad ate last night on one of them. Quentin, how many times do I have to tell you this?! You need to take more responsibility around the house. I can't do everything for you all the time."

Quentin feels his heart sink. How is it that the smallest amount of criticism can make him plunge back into a feeling he should have grown out of?

"I'll clean them better next time Mom, promise." He chokes out, and heads to his room.

Weakness is inevitable. No one walks through life happy as can be, especially not someone in a situation such as Quentin. Imbalance in anything cracks the threshold of any fabric, whether it's physical or mental. One small chip can lead an object to shatter. 

Unfortunately, Quentin lives an imbalanced life in an imbalanced world with imbalanced chemicals running through his brain.

Quentin closes his bedroom door and rests his head against the wall. Something as small as a slight criticism can leave his mind damaged. He almost pities himself.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and is immediately reminded of the note a certain someone gave to him during lunch period.

Quentin unravels the note, now covered in lint, and decides.

..........

"Do you think he'll even show?" Margo asks, holding up a blue sequined dress to her body in the miror.

Alice sighs. "I don't know. I hope he doesn't think we're playing him or anything. Also, the red one looks better."

Margo snatches the red dress back up and pictures herself wearing it. "Yeah. Definitely red."

Alice nods in agreement. "You'll have a lot of guys drooling over you Margo. Better bring a condom."

The brunette chuckles and reaches over her bedside table to grab something out of her drawer. 

"No Margo, don't. I swear to God, don't do it. Margo!" Alice pleads, as an opened condom is thrown into her lap.

Margo doubles over, laughing at how innocent Alice is. A few weeks ago, she told Margo that she had never had sex before, and has been teased since then. The tricky part is that Alice refuses to take dating advice from Margo, stating that she's too "out there". If it works, it works, right? No need to put labels on anyone.

"Margo are you fucking kidding me? You're so disgusting." Alice tosses the condom in the trash gingerly, pinching it between her forefinger and thumb.

"What? I'm just having a little fun. You need to loosen up. Stop worrying about your boyfriend and help me zip up this sexy-ass dress." Margo retorts.

Alice grunts out a "he's not my boyfriend" and stands up to help Margo. 

"You know, Alice. That's actually a great idea."

"What?"

"Imagine this- Quentin shows up to the party. We play a little game of spin the bottle, things get heated, and then he totally puts his dick in you. That's such a great idea! Holy shit, I'm a genius. Alice, you won't die a virgin!" Margo exclaims.

The blonde is unamused. "Margo, I'm not losing my virginity to some guy I barely know. We literally met yesterday. I don't want some stranger's penis inside of my vagina at some shitty party, okay?"

"Whatever you say, chica. Give me the word, and he's all yours." She winks.

..........

More people show up than expected. Brakebills kids don't mess around when it comes to parties, especially if you aren't in a high social class. Eliot, however, has nothing to worry about when it comes to popularity. He has it all; the looks, the style, the ego.

Hosting Brakebills parties is no small feat. But Eliot has the whole situation down to a science.

1\. Spread a rumor about a party.

2\. Tell friends that there will indeed be a party.

3\. Let the wildfire of gossip spread throughout the school.

4\. Get a shit ton of booze.

Basically party-goers have to bring their own booze to get into the party in the first place. It's just the law of the land.

So here's Eliot, mixing elegant cocktails in his kitchen, having the time of his life at yet another successful party. Sure, he may be a little tipsy, but who isn't on a Friday night in high school?

His so called "customers" ask for ridiculous drinks, and Eliot delivers each time. 

"I'll have a Long Island Iced Tea, please." Alice says, a small smile playing along her lips.

"Alice! It's so lovely to see you. Where is my dear, sweet Margo?" Eliot asks, searching the kitchen for any sign of his friend.

Alice laughs. "Probably sucking some dude's dick upstairs. Care to join?"

Eliot winks in response, and sets to work mixing Alice's drink. "How is everyone doing? I've been cooped up in the kitchen since people began to show."

"Everyone's fine. You should enjoy yourself more, go out there and dance. I'm sure you could shake your ass for a few guys that would enjoy the show." 

Eliot laughs from amusement. "Ah, of course! The only reason men thrive from my company. Wherever would I be without my perfect ass?" He makes dramatic gestures in the air as he talks, as if reciting a Shakespeare quote. He offers Alice the final concocted drink, and gives her a half-hearted smile.

Alice giggles, and takes a sip, just as Margo busts into the kitchen. She's breathing hard and has a crazed look in her face. 

"He's here."

..........

Quentin grasps his 6-pack of beer in his fist, praying to whatever mighty lord may be out there that he's made the right decision. At least Alice will be at this party, right? He has someone who will talk to him. He raises up a shaking hand and taps on the door, slightly, as if to not wake a child.

Of course, this action is stupid and unproductive since the music is booming from the other side of the door. No one can hear him.

Quentin decides to just walk in. Hopefully Alice is somewhere close.

He swings the front door open, and is greeted by a frisky blonde, smashing an empty beer bottle over some other guy's head and screaming with laughter. Fantastic.

Quentin sidesteps the situation, longing to find a place in the house where the music is slightly less thundering and people aren't trying to kill each other.

He catches sight of Margo, rushing towards the kitchen. Shit. If Margo is here, that means Eliot isn't too far behind.

Suddenly, Alice bursts out from the kitchen and gives Quentin the most surprised look he has ever seen. Her eyebrows fly so high up to her hairline, he thinks they may as well fly off her head. 

"Hey, Alice. How are you?" He musters, hoping to break the awkwardness.

"Quentin! I didn't think you'd come! I'm do glad you're here." She pulls him into a hug, and grabs the 6-pack from him. "I'll just add these to the stash. Coming with?"

Quentin meekly follows Alice to the kitchen, and instantly regrets his decision. 

"Quentin, how lovely to see you. Welcome to my humble abode." Eliot purrs, sly as always.

"This- this is your house?" Quentin looks at the ornate furnishings and modern decor. "It's very... up-to-date." He finishes. Ouch, that came out bad.

Eliot's demeanor plummets, but only for a quick second. "Yes, we enjoy staying modern here. Have you brought me gifts?"

Alice hands Eliot the pack of shitty beer. "Here."

The tall boy accepts the pack and inspects the label. "Not what I would have expected from you Q, but nonetheless inspiring. Maybe I should start serving this instead of my usual."

"Is that a joke?"

Eliot smirks. "You catch on quick, buttercup. Alice, take Quentin out for a good dance. He looks like he needs one."

Alice grabs Quentin's sweaty palm and begins to drag him from the kitchen.

"Oh! And Quentin?" 

"Yeah?"

Eliot holds up a green martini in one of his hands. "You're going to need one of these, also." He passes it to Quentin, lightly brushing their fingertips together. Quentin almost feels electric, and he hates it.

Alice pulls Quentin away from the kitchen and into the living room, which has been converted into a makeshift dance floor. She grasps his hands in hers, and sways him to the beat of the music.

At this point in time, Quentin feels extremely out of his element. But after drinking his cocktail and dancing with Alice for a few minutes, things smooth around the edges. The only thing he can see anymore is the delightful glint of Alice's blue eyes and how her smile makes him feel like he's won an Olympic gold medal. Everyone else melts away, and he's acutely aware of how horrible of a dancer he is, but he doesn't care.

At some point, a group of kids form a tight circle, and start spinning a beer bottle around and kissing each other. Quentin doesn't remember how he got sucked into the game, but now he's sitting among the group laughing as two guys kiss as if the other is a poisonous snake.

The bottle turns to Quentin, and he looks up, eyes crinkled from smiling. "Who am I kissing again?"

The group busts into uncontrollable laughter, and points to an Asian girl wearing overalls. She shrugs and crawls across the circle until she's sitting in Quentin's lap.

"Hey, new boy." She whispers, and connects their lips. The crowd goes wild, cheering her on and cracking jokes.

The girl pulls away and gives Quentin a cheeky smirk, before returning to her place in the circle.

"Quentin! Quentin, it's your turn! Spin, spin, spin, spin!" The group chants, and Quentin gives the beer bottle a good run.

It spins around a few times, before stopping to a complete halt. One kid gets down on his stomach to be eye-level with the bottle. 

"Looks like... Eliot!" He shouts in joy, before breaking out in a fit of laughter.

Quentin looks towards the bottle's pointed direction, and it is indeed Eliot who is sitting there, cross-legged with his hands clasped between his knees.

"Oh dear." Eliot mumbles, and pushes out a breath of air.

"Ah, fuck that! Can I spin again?" Quentin asks, half hoping, half pleading.

"Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss!" Is all the crowd responds with.

Quentin shrugs, his mind still foggy from his drink, and crawls across the circle to Eliot. The taller boy looks like a deer caught in the headlights, with his green eyes blown open wide.

Quentin positions himself in Eliot lap, just as the girl had done to him, and smiles.

"You don't have to do this." Eliot says, glancing at Quentin's lips. "I can make them all go home if you would rather not."

Quentin bubbles with laughter. "It's just a game, right?" 

He closes the distance between them and fastens his lips to Eliot's. Eliot tightens his hand's grip on the back of Quentin's shirt, and kisses back.

Eliot brushes his tongue across Quentin's lips, silently asking permission, before Quentin opens his mouth and allows Eliot to give him whatever he would like. The taller boy's eager tongue delves into Quentin's mouth, mapping him and remembering the feeling of his lips on his own. The hot air from Eliot's nose dances along his skin, lighting up his body in the best way possible.

The kiss is over all too suddenly, when Quentin pulls away from Eliot, with a lopsided grin. "You're a pretty good kisser."

Eliot cocks an eyebrow, breathing slightly labored. "Is that surprising?"

Quentin doesn't answer, just pats Eliot on the shoulder and returns to his seat in the circle.

"Holy shit! Why can't someone kiss me like that?" A brunette girl shrieks, glaring at her boyfriend. Half the circle disperses, many of them couples, trying to find at good place to fuck.

Quentin decided to follow suit, standing to his feet unsteadily, before grabbing onto Alice's arm for support. She grabs his wrist, and leads him though the kitchen to a separate living room on the other side of the house.

There's a couple half naked on one of the couches, but Alice shoos them away, before taking a seat.

"Fuck, I'm so tired." Quentin mumbles, rubbing at his eyes. He's never had this much fun in his life. 

"Probably because you burned a thousand calories kissing Eliot." Alice jokes.

"It's all part of the game, Alice. All part of the game." Quentin murmurs, before his eyes slide shut, and he can't find enough energy to stay awake any longer. 

"Goodnight, Quentin." Alice whispers, laying her head across his lap and covering herself with a blanket.

It feels good to sleep alongside someone again.


	3. In Which There Is A Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for being so late with this chapter. My spring break is exceptionally boring, and I haven't had a ton of motivation to write. Anyhow, enjoy the chapter update. Sending love you way, always. 
> 
> Love,  
> Extreme Writer's Block

The soft morning light filters through Quentin's closed eyes, waking him from his alcohol-induced sleep. He cracks open his eyelids, curious of his surroundings, and is met with the sight of Alice, drooling on his lap with her chest slowly rising and falling. In that moment, he thinks that she might be the most beautiful girl he has ever laid his eyes on. Her mascara is smeared beneath her eyes like tribal paint, and she looks like a warrior. Quentin has never felt more content with someone sleeping on his lap before. Well, possibly Julia, but she was different.

The scent of bacon makes his nose twitch in interest, and he raises his head to see where it is coming from. Behind him, Eliot stands in a checkered apron with his back to Quentin. He's hunched over the stove, with a determined tension in his muscles.

Oh, shit. The party.

Quentin's knuckles rub at his eyes, trying to massage the ache in his head away, but it seems to make the pain worse. 

"You're awake." Eliot emerges from the kitchen, holding in one hand a plate of crisp bacon, a little too burned for Quentin's taste. The other hand presents a cup of steaming coffe, which Quentin takes appreciatively. 

"What time is it?" Asks Quentin, his voice groggy and rough from sleep. 

Eliot sits down on the other end of the couch, careful to avoid waking Alice up. "It's noon. Everyone is gone except for you guys and Margo. I'm quite positive that she got fucked by at least three guys last night. I decided to let her sleep it off." He twists his jaw into a half smile. "Seems to me that you guys also needed to sleep it off. You were completely wasted."

Quentin laughs. He's never been that drunk before in his life. "I don't really remember anything, honestly. I remember dancing with Alice, and the rest was mostly an unimaginable blur."

Eliot turns his head and looks at Quentin, hard. His fierce green eyes hold a fire inside of them, but Quentin can't place why. "You don't remember... anything?" Eliot says, seeming slightly vulnerable.

Quentin shakes his head. "Nope. Whatever dumb shit you tried after midnight has been deftly forgotten by my dutiful brain." Quentin expects Eliot to laugh, but he gets no such thing.

Instead, Eliot slouches his body into the couch and closes his eyes. Mumbling, he says, "Interesting." 

Quentin's curiosity has the best of him. "What did I miss? Anything good?"

Eliot huff out a laugh, turning his eyes toward Quentin again. "Yeah. Yeah, I suppose you could say that."

Quentin doesn't push him any further. The party was probably crazy, especially for Eliot, who hosted the damn thing. 

Alice readjusts her body on Quentin's lap, freeing her arms and scrubbing her hands over her face. She half moans, half whines.

"Shit. Does anyone have an Advil?"

"Alice, my dear, you are in luck. I am the king of Advil." The tall boy proceeds to extract a travel sized container of Advil from his pants pocket, the same ones he wore last night. Quentin can remember quite clearly how good they made his ass look. 

Alice accepts the medication and uses Quentin's coffee to swallow the two pills. Eliot watches in mild amusement, a small smile playing along his lips. Quentin openly stares at those beautiful lips, hoping that one day he'll be able to taste them on his own. Eliot's eyes dart up to meet Quentin's and for a split second, the younger boy can almost see a glimpse of fear in Eliot's eyes. But fear of what? The look is gone as soon as it had come.

Alice straightens herself up and throws each of her arms over the two boys on either side of her body. "So... plans for today?"

Eliot chances a sly sideways glance at Alice, and shakes his head, jutting out his lips into a slight pout.

"Let's watch Chopped on Netflix, then. I'm always down to watch a good-ass cooking show." Alice grabs the television remote and puts on the show.

She and Eliot are instantly enthralled in the show, constantly making crude remarks on the chef's cooking techniques and choice of ingredients. They watch Chopped like one would watch the Superbowl. At some point, Quentin begins to feel different from anything he has felt before. This is what it feels like to be happy. These people have accepted him into their friendship, no, their family, after knowing Quentin for only a few days. 

He reflects on the day that he got irrationally angry at Eliot and Margo for remarking on his home. Eliot truly doesn't seem to be the kind of person to genuinely feel superior to others just because of money. Sure, he lived in a nice house, but he was also willing to eat nachos on his couch with a nerd kid and an over-achieving bookworm while watching a stupid cooking show on TV.

Margo emerges from her slumber at some point of the show, and decides to belly flop across all of their laps, face landing near Quentin's crotch, where she makes a sarcastic remark. They all laugh, and Quentin has never felt such content in his whole life.

..........

The next three months pass comfortably. Quentin is adopted back into Eliot's friend group, despite his earlier outburst towards him and Margo. They eat lunch together every day, throwing backhanded jokes back and forth between themselves and silently judging people from outlying groups. They all fell into a pleasant cycle; Eliot drinking himself half to death on the weekends, Margo making a goal to bang every guy at Brakebills, Penny picking a fight with every guy on the football team, and Quentin passionately ignoring his major crush on Eliot. 

Speaking of, it has gotten increasingly difficult to push his thoughts of the older boy aside in his head. Quentin has never been with a guy, or a girl for that matter, before. Not like he would be particularly picky to either sex, he can appreciate both forms of the body. It's just an unfamiliar feeling to have such a longing for someone who would most likely never want him back.

The only other time he's ever felt something remotely similar to this was when he lived near Julia. But that was different, he liked her more as a close friend.

This longing for Eliot is completely separate from his longing for Julia. With Julia, he just needed to talk to her and tell her how much he enjoyed her company. With Eliot, he needs physical contact, he needs to be close to him in every way possible. There's an irresistible energy about the high school senior that Quentin can't get enough of. Maybe it's because of that "opposites attract" theory, since Eliot is an entirely different personality than Quentin. Where Eliot stands calm, cool, and collected, Quentin is sporadic, stuttering, and overall a huge mess of anxiety and awkward mixed into one person.

The past few months haven't been giving Quentin an exact understanding of where he stands with Eliot, either. He may not be the best at relationships, but he can definitely feel that Eliot has a different air about him when Quentin is around. 

For example, a few weeks ago, Eliot threw a small party. Well, "small" may not be the correct term for the size of the party. There were less people there than the party at the beginning of the year, but still a large group of kids turned out. 

Eliot invited Quentin and the friend group to come over to enjoy the party, and spend the night if they wished to. The other party goers were kicked out at 3am sharp.

In the morning, when Quentin woke up from his trashy hungover dreams, he crept downstairs, careful not to disturb anyone else who may have been sleeping. When he reached the end of the staircase to the first floor, he caught a glimpse of Eliot, sitting in a royal armchair, with a copy of Shakespeare's Hamlet in his lap. His lanky legs were jumbled on the chair, almost uncomfortably, and he was resting his face in his hand, squishing his cheek so that the crinkle alongside his eye deepened. His eyebrows were tightly cinched, making him look impeccably angry, yet intrigued. Quentin had never seen Eliot in quite a state before. He was either a huge douche, acting cocky, or completely drunk off of his mind. But this Eliot, the one who read like a 5 year old when he believed no one was watching, was beautiful. This was the true Eliot that Quentin saw when he looked into his eyes.

So yeah. The past three months have been kind of weird, but in a good way.

..........

"Quentin? Would you come here for a moment?" His mother calls.

Quentin glances down at his boxer briefs and reasons that they are not appropriate to wear in front of your mom while having a casual conversation. He quickly throws on a raggedy pair of jeans and says, "I'll be right out!"

When he emerges from his room, his mother and father are both waiting for him in their kitchen. 

"What's wrong?" He asks with a tinge of worry. What if they're moving again? What if he has to start school in a whole new place and make all new friends?

His mom smiles. "Nothing is wrong. We just wanted to talk to you about this trip that we'll be taking. Sadly, Dad's company only pays for two people, so you'll have to stay home by yourself for two weeks or so. Do you think you can handle that? If not, I can skip out on the trip and stay here with you." 

Quentin's dad raises a slight eyebrow. "We know that you struggle with things sometimes Quentin, but I think that it's important for you to be able to live on your own for a little while. You are seventeen, after all. This trip is really important for my business right now. I could even get a raise!" His father exclaims.

His mom smiles, and sets one of her hands on her husband's knee. "We just want to be sure that you're comfortable with it. That's all."

Quentin almost bursts with excitement. Trip equals raise, and raise equals staying at Brakebills longer. Sounds fucking delightful.

"That's great news! I'll be totally fine, Mom. You and Dad should go out and enjoy the trip. If I need anything, I'll be able to call you, right?" Quentin gives his parents a gleeful smile.

"Definitely." Quentin's dad affirms, and his mom seems to be settled by his response.

"We're going to leave tomorrow in the morning." His mom tells him, and Quentin takes that as a dismissal. He heads back into his room, and flops down on his bed. This trip might just be the best thing that has ever happened to him.

..........

"My parents are out of town."

The whole lunch table stops eating to give him an incredulous look. 

"Don't fuck with us, Quentin." Margo warns.

"Yeah, don't get our hopes up like that." Says Eliot. Classic Eliot.

Quentin rests his head in his hands, exasperated. Does everything have to be a fucking joke with them? "I'm not fucking with you guys. My mom and my dad are going to Chicago for a business trip. They're going to be gone for a few weeks."

Alice goes back to eating her sandwich, Eliot and Margo pass excited looks to each other, and Penny whispers something dirty into his girlfriend Kady's ear, which makes her giggle and blush. 

Eliot says, "Let's all fuck around at Quentin's house, then. As long as Princess Q is okay with us crashing at his castle for some time."

Quentin considered this before he even told his friends that his parents were leaving. Obviously they would want to come over. He still is quite shy about opening up his life to them, especially one of the nicest homes he has ever lived in, but he trusts them. He wants to open up to them. He almost feels like they deserve to see that part of his life.

"I'm cool with it. As long as you guys don't trash my house, I'm fine." Says Quentin.

Margo claps her hands together, grinning. "Yay! We get to see Quentin's house! Sadly, I can only come over on the weekends, because my parents are dicks and want me to have no social life, apparently. But I'll definitely be over on the weekend!"

Alice smiles at Quentin, and says she would love to come over to his house for dinner sometime, maybe a few days a week.

Penny jokes about having sex in his parent's bedroom, and Quentin promptly uninvites him to his house.

Eliot is the only person who seems to go fully for the idea. "Dearest Quentin, I am going to live the shit out of your house until your parents come back. We are going to watch television like nothing else matters, and make glorious dinners like they do at expensive restaurants. Caviar one night, an excellent wine the next."

Quentin laughs. Nervously? Or excitedly? "Are you serious?"

"Of course I'm serious. I'll pack my bag tonight and drive over to your place. Address?"

Quentin scribbles down his address on a scrap piece of paper in his backpack. Eliot takes it and secures it in his pocket, just as the lunch bell for dismissal rings out.

"Lovely. See you tonight, then." Eliot says, collecting his bag and stalking out of the cafeteria.

Holy shit. What has he just done?

..........

Quentin shouldn't be freaking the fuck out.

But he is definitely freaking the fuck out.

A part of Quentin's brain is screaming "extreme slumber party!" while another part screams "fuck this shit, I'm out!"

He hurriedly cleans the house, making it look as presentable as it ever will be. The counter tops are clean, the bathroom is livable, and his room is... well...

Unhealthily stockpiled with clothes and nerdy shit. But Eliot probably won't care.

The doorbell rings. Speak of the fucking devil. Quentin throws down an unfinished Rubix Cube onto his bed sheets, and nearly runs into the door frame on the way out from his room. He avoids disaster the rest of the way, and opens the door to face a weary eyed Eliot, holding an overflowing Brakebills duffel bag.

"Who's ready to fucking party?"


End file.
